"What the hell happened here?" Damon blurted, taken aback by the state of my father's living room.

"This actually isn't half bad," I murmured.

Traffic was light this time of night. We made it to my dad's house in no time.

When we arrived, I was almost pleasantly surprised. The front door had been locked. There were only a few soda cans strewn around the living room and a handful of take-out containers left on coffee tables. The carpet was full of crumbs, though, and there was a pile of clothing in a corner, as if someone had kicked them out of the way haphazardly. Every curtain was drawn closed to block out light. The air smelled musty and stale, as if the windows hadn't been opened in weeks. The television wasn't on, for once.

I supposed it could have been better.

"Someone actually lives in this mess?" Damon muttered, looking around with consternation.

"Dad?" I called out.

A low sound came from the kitchen. I followed it, stepping over cans and avoided the crumbs crushed into the carpet. Damon trailed behind me, eyes wide.

My dad stood in front of the open fridge. He didn't glance up when I appeared in the kitchen doorway.

"You looking for something to eat?" I asked.

He nodded shortly, not looking at me.

"I'm sorry," I told him. "It totally slipped my mind today was Wednesday."

He grunted and closed the fridge.

"I brought some chicken and salad." I placed the food on the kitchen table. I'd made a brief stop at a grocery store with a pre-made section, hoping to find something not terribly unhealthy. "I know it's not your favorite, but you can't eat take-out all the time."

"Thanks," he said flatly.

My father wandered from the kitchen back to the living room. He still hadn't looked at me or Damon. I swallowed the lump in my throat.

Damon took my arm and tugged me aside.

"What the hell?" he whispered. "Is he always like this?"

"Yeah," I said sadly. "Pretty much."

Damon looked toward the living room with dismay. "He's acting like—"

"Like I'm the last person in the world he wants to see?"

Damon's eyes turned soft. He pulled me into a hug. I rested my cheek against his chest, letting myself enjoy in his embrace.

The television in the living room clicked on. I pulled back.

"I'm going to put together a plate of food," I told Damon.

I put the chicken on a plate and put it in the microwave. I got a knife and fork and some paper napkins. I turned and rested my back against the counter. Damon was watching me carefully.

"So, now you've met the in-laws," I joked weakly. "There's a lot less drama on my side of the family, so I guess you're lucky that way."

"Faith…" Damon spoke my name out loud, sympathy in his voice, but that was it. He didn't seem to know what else to say.

The microwave beeped. I took out the plate, heaped on some salad, and brought it to the living room. Damon followed.

"Here you go, Dad." I put the plate on the coffee table next to his armchair. "Better eat it before it gets cold."

My father finally turned to me. His eyes flicked over my shoulder, landing on Damon. The corners of his mouth turned down.

"Damon, this is my dad, Justice Briars," I introduced. "Dad, this is Damon Drake. He's my—"

I nearly choking on my tongue. I didn't know what to call him. We hadn't had any kind of conversation about this yet. He knew I was in love with him, and he seemed more than chuffed at the knowledge. I knew Damon liked me. He said he didn't want to be with anyone else. But did he mean forever, or did he just mean for now?

Before I could continue with the noncommittal word friend, Damon jumped in.

"I'm her boyfriend," Damon said smoothly.

I stared at him. Damon looked to me and winked. I pressed my lips together. That didn't stop a small smile from trying to creep across my face. I didn't know whether he was just saying that to save face — I couldn't very well introduce him as my fuck buddy — or if this was Damon's way of telling me he wanted to be serious. Committed.

My heart sang a little thrill at the thought.

"Pleasure to meet you, sir." Damon stuck his hand out for a shake.

My father eyed Damon's hand blandly before reaching out and giving it a single pump. He pulled his hand back quickly.

"Nice to meet you," my dad mumbled. He returned his attention back to the television.

A muscle twitched in Damon's clenched jaw. I could practically see the question in his eyes. What the hell is his deal?

I wished Damon hadn't insisted on coming.

"Okay, well, we're going to go now," I said, wanting to cut this visit short.

"Mm," my father grunted.

"I'll see you next Wednesday."

Tears pricked the back of my eyes. I hurried through the living room and out of the house with brisk steps. I needed to get myself under control before Damon saw. He didn't need to know how much this affected me.

I was already in the passenger seat when Damon exited the house slowly. He closed the door behind him. I took in a deep breath and blinked rapidly, trying to dry my eyes. I hoped they weren't red-rimmed.

Damon got into the car.

"Can you drive me back to my place?" I said immediately. "It's been a really long day. I've got a lot of work tomorrow. I need to get some sleep."

Damon nodded. He started the engine. He pulled out of the driveway. Only then did he speak.

"Hope thinks your dad is just a workaholic," he said. It wasn't a question. "She thinks that's why the two of you never see him."

"He used to be," I shrugged helplessly. "Then he got put on medical leave. And now he's like this."

"And you come here every week?" Damon asked.

"Someone has to make sure he's eating and sleeping and not just…" I trailed off.

Damon gave me a quick look of disbelief before turning his attention back to the road. "Faith, you don't have to torture yourself like this."

"I'm not going to let him just waste away," I said. "He might hate the sight of me but he's still my dad."

Damon ran one hand through his hair, frustrated. "And you haven't told Hope?"

"If I told her she'd insist on helping," I explained. "It's bad enough one of us goes through this every week. There's no reason she needs to go through this, too."

Damon went silent, as if thinking hard. Eventually he spoke.

"You have to tell her," he said.

I looked out the window. "You're one to talk."

Damon made an exasperated sound in the back of his throat. "That's different."

"How is it different?" I snapped. "You wanted to protect Ian from your father. I want to protect Hope from mine."

"Hope needed to know her father isn't…" Damon trailed off with a deep sigh. "She thinks everything is fine. She has no idea he's… like that. What if something happens? You think she'd like to find out that way?"

"I told you. If she knows, she'll insist on helping. You saw how he treated me. You think I want Hope to go through that every week?"

"You shouldn't have to go through it."

"Someone has to."

Damon growled. "You're so stubborn."

"I'm just doing what's best for my sister," I shot back. "Same as you."

I crossed my arms over my chest and stared out the window again. We didn't talk the rest of the way. When Damon pulled up to my apartment, he put the car in park and turned to me.

"If you don't tell her, I will," he said.

I whipped my head around. His expression was steady, impassive. I glared at him.

"Don't you dare," I warned.

"Someone has to," he said reasonably. "It's not fair to her. Or to you."

"You don't get to tell me what to do."

Damon narrowed his eyes at me. "You always say someone needs to act like an adult, but you're the one being childish right now."

I gaped at him before firming my lips.

"You want childish?" I unbuckled my seat belt with sharp movements. I yanked on the interior handle and flung the door open. I swung my legs around and set my feet on the ground with a stomp. "Fine. Here's childish for you."

"Faith!" Damon struggled with his seatbelt as he leaned across the passenger seat. "Wait."

I turned to him, radiating fury with every molecule of my body.

"You ever experience the silent treatment?" I fumed. "Because if you tell Hope, I am never speaking to you again."

I slammed the car shut and ran into the building.